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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26702734">no james dean</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/theundiagnosable/pseuds/theundiagnosable'>theundiagnosable</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Men's Hockey RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, i know multiple languages but none with the capacity to express how stupid and indulgent this is, they're movie stars and they're pretty and they have sex in regency outfits that's all</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:55:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,957</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26702734</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/theundiagnosable/pseuds/theundiagnosable</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>William lies facedown on the floor and is sad for forty whole minutes, when the list comes out. He only stops because it occurs to him that his current position might mess up his face, which is his main and mostly only asset, aside from his hair and body, so he switches to lying on his back on the floor and being sad.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Frederik Andersen/William Nylander</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>222</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>no james dean</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>
  <span class="small">- look the world is terrible and words are hard just let me have this</span>
</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>William lies facedown on the floor and is sad for forty whole minutes, when the list comes out. He only stops because it occurs to him that his current position might mess up his face, which is his main and mostly only asset, aside from his hair and body, so he switches to lying on his back on the floor and being sad, and does that for another seven minutes until Kappy appears with his smoothie.</p><p>“And what the fuck are you doing?” Kappy asks, all unimpressed, poking William’s stomach with his toe.</p><p>“Lie down with me, Kasu,” William says. Usually Kappy wouldn’t listen, because for a personal assistant he mostly just does what he wants, but maybe he can tell that William is distraught, because he puts William’s smoothie on the table then sprawls out on the floor.</p><p>“I’m distraught,” William informs him, turning so they’re face to face.</p><p>“Did someone mention the-”</p><p>“No,” William cuts him off, with as much dignity as he can muster while this distraught, because they don’t talk about his early career endeavours, that’s a rule. “No, look.” He stretches out his leg as far as it will go, manages to get a toe on the corner of the magazine and drag it over from where he threw it. He picks it up and drops it right on Kas’ face.</p><p>Kappy peels the shiny cover off of his cheek. “Sexiest Man Alive- not this again, we get it, you’re-”</p><p>“<em>Look</em>,” William says, miserable, and watches Kappy’s eyes skim over the cover, watches him process the fact that William’s picture is confined to a little bubble in the lower left corner while the cover story is entirely dedicated to- </p><p>“Frederik Andersen,” Kappy reads, “’From Denmark’s indie darling to A-list hunk’- wow, the writing on these is bad.”</p><p>“That’s not the <em>point</em>,” William says. “I <em>lost</em>.”</p><p>The indignity is just horrifying. If he isn’t People magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive he doesn’t know what he <em>is</em>; he doesn’t know anything about anything anymore, if suddenly people and People’s idea of sexy is some Danish ginger who does arthouse films. It’s some kind of cruel irony, making William’s usurper someone who looks the complete opposite of him. Even more cruel irony to make him the costar of William’s new project. People magazine is conspiring to ruin William’s life.</p><p>“I mean,” Kap says, his shrug practically audible, “You won three years in a row, it was probably time-”</p><p>“And now I have to <em>act</em> with him,” William cuts Kappy off, rolling back over so he’s facedown, because in spite of his best efforts, this is a facedown on the floor situation. “I have to pretend like he’s appealing. I hate him.”</p><p>“You’ve never even-”</p><p>“Pass me my smoothie,” William says, and Kas rolls his eyes, sits up, and, judging by the disgusting slurping sounds, starts drinking William’s smoothie himself.</p><p>This floor is William’s only real friend.</p><p>“He’s not even that handsome,” he mumbles, and neither the floor nor Kappy dignifies that with a response.</p><p>---</p><p>William would leave the project right then and there, if it wasn’t for the fact that it’s an Opportunity. Opportunity means that his agent literally jumped up and down when William got offered one of the leads, and that everyone who discusses the yet-to-be-filmed movie says things like ‘awards contender’ and ‘festival premiere’ and ‘cinematography’.</p><p>He’s had the script for a while. It’s fine. Not really William’s type of movie: a period romance with a deeply boring plot wherein Frederik Andersen is disgraced nobility and William is a whimsical and mildly tragic ingenue that helps him rediscover the meaning of life, or whatever. His character quotes poetry on multiple occasions.</p><p>William doesn’t get poetry, really. He can pretend, though, for a camera, if it means people will finally start seeing him as a serious actor; and so, he reasons, once he’s had a smoothie and a three-hour yoga class and is flying in a chartered jet to whatever remote location they’re filming, he can pretend to not loathe Frederik Andersen as well, at least when cameras are on. </p><p>“I can do this,” he informs Kappy while the plane is taxiing. “I can sacrifice my dignity for my career.”</p><p>“You have dignity?” Kappy asks, like a jerk, but he also snuggles up and lets William use him as a pillow during the long long drive from the airport, so William decides to continue to love him.</p><p>The village where the cast and crew are staying during filming looks like something out of the 1800s or 1400s or whenever this movie is set – William doesn’t waste brain energy on unimportant details – with cobblestone everything and miles of countryside stretching out as far as he can see. Big old manor houses silhouetted on the horizon.</p><p>One of the old manor houses, it turns out, is the converted hotel where the cast and crew are staying during filming. William takes a selfie with one of the fans waiting outside, heads through the door, and then stops in his tracks.</p><p>Frederik Andersen looks better in person. He’s sat on one of the chaises dotting the foyer, but even sitting it’s obvious that he’s <em>big</em>, tall but also broad enough to fit two of William. He’s got the beginnings of a beard and soft-looking ginger hair with a single superman curl falling into his face.</p><p>William can see where the Sexiest Man Alive voters were coming from. Not enough that he shouldn’t have won, still, but-</p><p>He gets it.</p><p>William exchanges a look with Kappy, then, as Kappy goes off to join whoever the other assistant is at the desk, does his best casual saunter over towards his nemesis, who does not look up when he approaches, or even when he approaches a little bit more. It’s not that big of a lobby.</p><p>William tosses his hair back. “Hello, then,” he says, light and breezy and unknowable.</p><p>Frederik Andersen looks up from his phone and raises an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, should I know you?” </p><p>Wrong kind of unknowable. William gapes at him. “I’m the other lead,” he says, then, when Frederik Andersen’s facial expression still hasn’t changed, “Of the movie?”</p><p>“Oh.” Frederik Andersen looks mildly interested at that. Very, very mildly. “Right, sure. Nice to meet you.” He’s got an accent – heavier than William’s, but still light. “William, right?”</p><p>“Yes,” William says. He has to focus very hard on keeping eye contact, because Frederik Andersen is looking at him in a way that feels kind of like getting x-rayed but also like William is a public art installation or something else only marginally worth looking at. It’s at least sixty percent extremely sexy. William cannot tell if that part is intentional.</p><p>“Would I have seen you in anything before?” asks Frederik Andersen, still in his no-expression voice. “You look familiar.”</p><p>At least he doesn’t live under a rock. “I was on the cover of Teen Vogue’s Young Hollywood issue,” William informs him beneficently.</p><p>“No, I don’t think that’s it,” Frederik Andersen says.</p><p>William feels like he needs smelling salts. He needs smelling salts or he’s going to black out from rage. It’s fucking Teen Vogue, who does this arthouse film-making beautiful terrible man think he <em>is?</em></p><p>He survives, buoyed on righteous fury, until he gets to his cozy and old-fashioned hotel room and gets to Googling, at which point he learns that Who Frederik Andersen Thinks He Is is a person who was on Vogue. <em>Vogue-</em>Vogue, not even Teen Vogue.</p><p>The cover looks like a piece of Baroque artwork, all curtains and velvet and deep plum colours, all offset by Frederik Andersen in a loosened tie, his collar artfully dishevelled, his sleeves rolled up by his elbows to show off his massive arms while he looks into the camera like he wants to do filthy things to it while rolling around on Baroque velvet curtains and maybe doing, like, sexy professor things at the same time.</p><p>“He’s so pretentious,” William says, saving the image to his camera roll, only for spite reasons. “I can’t believe I’m going to have sex with him.”</p><p>“I mean, you don’t have to,” Kappy says, lugging in the last of their suitcases.</p><p>William sighs, zooming into the picture so he can see Frederik Andersen’s neck muscles. “No, I’m going to.”</p><p>It’s really almost too easy, to actually get around to the sex part. Dinner is being served for the cast in the palatial dining room of the hotel, so William makes his way downstairs, elbows his way to the seat next to his nemesis, and gets to work. He puts a hand on his arm, is <em>extremely </em>liberal with the laughter, and prepares himself to pretend to be enraptured by everything Frederik Andersen says all meal. That part is slightly derailed by the fact that, three courses later, Frederik Andersen has said perhaps two words, total, but- it’s fine. William can do words.</p><p>“Frederik is a really strong name,” he says.</p><p>“Fred’s fine,” Frederik Andersen says.</p><p>“Fred,” William echoes, testing. “Freddie?”</p><p>Frederik-Fred-Freddie shrugs a shoulder, obviously bored. “Whatever.” He sips his water.</p><p>William frowns, then remembers that frowning is not his best look, and scoots a little closer.</p><p>“I think,” he says, “that it’s a <em>great </em>name.” He draws a slow circle around the top button on Fred’s shirt, watches Fred’s eyes trace the movement of his finger, every movement, and thinks, <em>ha</em>.</p><p>Fred’s eyes flicker to meet William’s. They’re both leaning in close now, very much in each other’s space. He’s <em>big</em>. He’s <em>interested</em>.</p><p>“We have to work together,” he says, in his quiet voice.</p><p>“We do,” William agrees. “Want to get a head start?”</p><p>A little line appears between Fred’s brows, all thoughtful. His eyes flicker over William’s body, then back to his face. “Sure,” is all he says. Good enough for William.</p><p>“We’re going to go run lines,” he tells Kappy, who makes gagging sounds that William is more than happy to ignore, instead grabbing Fred’s hand and tugging him out of the room. They get a few looks from the other actors. William ignores those too.</p><p>“So,” he says, once they’re back at his room, that’s all he says before he’s boxed in and pushed back against the door and Fred is kissing him, thumbs untucking William’s shirt, his hands massive on Williams hips. It’s a rough kiss, his tongue fucking into William’s mouth and his almost-beard scratchy against William’s face, but not a mean one. Delicate distinction. William appreciates it.</p><p>“You’re so big,” he says. It earns him the littlest hint of a maybe-smile, Fred’s eyes crinkling at the corners. He’s got the sort of smile that people say looks kind.</p><p>William is rescued from any more embarrassing thoughts like that by Fred proceeding to literally hoist him up and carry him to the bed, which reminds William that he’s here for one reason and one reason only, and that reason is to get the upper hand by being the best and hottest hookup Frederik Andersen has ever had.</p><p>He’ll say this for Fred: it’s a closer contest than it is with most of the people William has slept with. Fred has the unicorn-like combination of having a massive dick and actually knowing how to use it, and William, not to be outdone, makes a point of arching his back and letting his hair fall around his face when Fred is pushing into him. All part of the performance.</p><p>Mostly all part of the performance. William doesn’t let himself dwell on how the hand digging into the back of Fred’s neck, the way he’s gripping desperately there, trying to hang on to something like composure, is real.</p><p>“Oh my god,” William gasps, and that’s real too, when Fred picks up his pace, one hand braced against the headboard. His thighs are hitting against William’s, every single thrust making William see stars, and getting fucked has never been, like, a transcendent spiritual experience for William, but he’s <em>into </em>it.</p><p>“So good,” Fred grunts, the first thing he’s said in ages. “You look-”</p><p>“Tell me,” William says, and Fred kisses him instead, and William feels his breath hitch as he comes and feels like he won something. Nothing gives the upper hand like being the best lay someone’s ever had, sorry, all future sexual partners of Frederik Andersen, there’s no recovering from proximity to William Nylander, except then Fred sits up, stretches, and opens his mouth.</p><p>“I’ll see you on set, I guess?” he says, like nothing, like they really did just finish running lines, and William blinks.</p><p>“You’re not going to ask to stay?”</p><p>Fred glances at the door then at William like he thinks William’s missing something. “My room is literally across the hall.”</p><p>That’s not how he’s supposed to respond. That’s not how <em>anyone </em>responds, that’s the whole point of the ‘best lay someone’s ever had’ thing.</p><p>William opens his mouth then closes it. Fred is tugging on his pants, unbothered, getting up and heading for the door, and he hardly even looks at William until he’s there.</p><p>“This was fun."</p><p>“Fun,” William echoes. “You’re not going to ask if you can stay and talk, or say how much you want to get to know the real me, or whatever?”</p><p>Fred raises an eyebrow at him. “I… don’t feel like we have that much in common, to talk about.”</p><p>“Well, <em>I </em>know that,” William says, affronted. “You’re not even going to say thank you?”</p><p>He gets another tiny smile for that one, but this time it’s almost disbelieving. “For what?”</p><p>“For letting you sleep with me.”</p><p>“Were you going to thank me?” Fred asks, all reasonable.</p><p>William hate hate hates him.</p><p>He rolls over onto his side, his back to the door. “I decided you can leave,” he says, in his best ‘I’m better than you in every way’ voice.</p><p>“That’s nice of you,” Fred says.</p><p>“Yes, I know,” William snaps. “We’re never doing this again, so.”</p><p>“…tragic,” Fred says, and the door clicks shut behind him. William throws a pillow at it.</p><p>It was probably for the best, he reasons, later, once he’s chin-deep in a bubble bath and has mostly talked himself back into his usual extremely chill self. He got what he wanted, and sure, maybe Fred was better at pretending to be unaffected than anticipated, and maybe it was the best sex of William’s life and he still can’t feel his legs, but- irrelevant. All irrelevant. It happened, it’s done, William has firmly established that he can keep pace with the Sexiest Man Alive in the sex department, and no matter how much stupid sexy Frederik Andersen comes back begging for more, it is never, ever happening again.</p><p>---</p><p>The fifth time that it happens, William accepts the fact that it’s becoming a pattern.</p><p>In his defense, the countryside is extremely boring, and Fred is extremely attractive, and- like, whatever, William is a big enough person to admit that the second, third, and fourth times were mostly his own fault, but even then, Fred was filming a horseback riding scene in incredibly tight pants. What was William supposed to do, <em>not </em>jump him as soon as they were back at the hotel?</p><p>He’s starting to understand the appeal of these period romance movies, maybe. They’ve been shooting for almost two weeks, and William still feels vaguely faint every time he sees Fred in one of the perfectly tailored waistcoats his character is fond of wearing, or stares deep into his eyes as the cameras circle and their characters lust tragically for each other in crowded ballrooms.</p><p>On Wednesday, they’re up early to catch the sunrise through the windows for the bath scene, where William emerges from a tub in slow motion and Fred accidentally walks in on him and the tension burns to a boil until one of the servants walks in and interrupts. They film the whole thing about a dozen times, all different angles, every single time Fred’s eyes getting darker, and it’s not a surprise when he tugs William into one of the million little closets on location and blows him so good that William feels like he might die.</p><p>They split a charcuterie board in William’s rooms back at the hotel, and it feels mostly companionable, even, until Fred starts getting nosy.</p><p>“Reality TV?”</p><p>“No.” William spears a grape on a toothpick.</p><p>Fred’s looking at him, frowning just a little, eyes piercing. “I know that I know you from somewhere,” he says, then, “Disney movies?”</p><p>Uncomfortably close. “I’m not telling you, only my friends know,” William says. He tosses a pillow at Fred’s head, careful not to dislodge any of the food. Fred catches the pillow and bats it back, chuckles softly when William’s next retaliation comes in the form of tackling him back onto the bed.</p><p>It’s kind of like a Pavlov’s dog thing, at this point: William looks at Fred laid out on the pillows and immediately starts getting hard again, even though it’s late and they’ve got another early call time tomorrow.</p><p>“We could probably fuck in like ten minutes, right?” he wonders out loud.</p><p>“Your libido is ridiculous,” Fred informs him, but shifts his hips under William’s, slides one massive thigh in between his legs. “You can get off while I watch.”</p><p>“That’s hot,” William decides. “You’re lazy, but that’s hot.”</p><p>The next time it occurs to him to pay attention to the look on Fred’s face, William’s expecting- he doesn’t know, blatant lust or hunger or something that would make sense considering he’s been watching William rut up against his leg with increasing desperation. Instead, there’s something happy on Fred’s face, something almost fond.</p><p>“What?” William asks, only a little out of breath. He doesn’t stop moving.</p><p>“You’re so weird,” Fred informs him. He folds his arms back under his head. </p><p>“Fred,” William says. “Freddie, Freddie, Freddie.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“You should have sex with me about it.”</p><p>He rolls his eyes, but he does. Time number six, William decides, they can share the blame.</p><p>---</p><p>The day they’re supposed to film the big confession scene, they get rained out, the whole romantic meadow of wildflowers swamped and getting more swamped by the minute as the downpour keeps coming.</p><p>William ends up sitting with Fred in an old barn, under orders to keep out of the rain so their hair and makeup isn’t ruined, while the crew runs around trying to salvage the shoot. William doesn’t mind the change to get to stare a little extra at Freddie’s billowy white shirt without having to recite lines.</p><p>“No one ever makes me sit this close to mud when I’m modelling,” William says, conversational, when another rumble of thunder shakes the walls.</p><p>Fred hums. “Acting is different, huh?”</p><p>“I’ve done it before,” William says. “I’ve been acting since I was-” He realizes his mistake and recovers quickly. “For a long time.”</p><p>Not quickly enough.</p><p>“<em>Oh</em>,” Fred’s eyes widen. “That’s where I know you from.” </p><p>Abort, abort. “What?”</p><p>William’s a good actor, but not good enough to dissuade Fred from this. “Yes, you did the-” he sings the annoyingly catchy little jingle, quiet and only a little off-key. “‘Welcome to Willy’s Wo-orld’.”</p><p>“I’ve done other things,” William says, desperate, because of course, of <em>course </em>his horrifying early career as star of a wildly popular children’s TV show that is currently in syndication in a dozen countries and also the focus of multiple pedagogical studies about children’s media is coming back to haunt him, of course it is. It always does, he can never escape it. “Don’t-”</p><p>Fred is doubled over, laughing as hard as William has ever seen him. He still looks handsome, somehow, even with his eyes all squished as he giggles. “My little sister used to watch you all the time,” Fred gasps out between laughs. “I remember now, you had the little bowl cut-”</p><p>“Oh my <em>god</em>,” William says distraught and embarrassed and also slightly a little majorly overwhelmed by how happy Fred looks. It’s just A Lot. He tugs his hair over his face to hide, <em>if I can’t see you you can’t laugh at me, </em>that kind of thing.</p><p>Eventually, Fred manages to sound almost serious again. “Relax,” he says. “It was sweet.” </p><p>William pouts, tucks his legs up close. “Yes, of course you think that, you look perfect always.”</p><p>Fred snorts. “I’m not perfect.”</p><p>“I hate humble people,” William informs him, shoving him very gently, not enough to put him in the way of the rain.</p><p>“I’m not being humble,” Fred insists, then, when William gives him his best ‘are you kidding me’ look that he knows is particularly cutting because he practiced it for an audition for a secret agent role he didn’t get, “I’m not, it’s- it’s bizarre, when people say that.”</p><p>“You looking perfect?” William asks, skeptical.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Because you’re too humble-”</p><p>“No,” Fred says, leaning back on one arm, the hem of his sleeve probably getting all dusty on the barn floor. “Because I was a six foot tall, underweight, ginger twelve-year-old with a bad haircut and anger issues who was too shy to talk in public.” He shrugs a shoulder. Dismissive, but not convincingly, not the way he was the first time they had sex. Less convincing. Maybe William just knows him better. Maybe neither of them is that good of an actor, really. “The concept of people finding me attractive, it’s… weird. Unfamiliar.”</p><p>William looks at him, kind of taken aback. Partly by Freddie apparently having much worse self-esteem than is reasonable, and partly by himself, like, in his own mind, because- part of William still feels a little bruised by getting brushed off a couple weeks ago, and part of him still hates Fred a teeny tiny jealous little bit for stealing the Sexiest Man Alive cover, but all of the other parts of William just feel… sad? Unsettled, by the unfairness of it, because Freddie is beautiful and funny and nice, even though he tries to hide that part, and he shouldn’t think poorly of himself ever.</p><p>“I do,” William says.</p><p>Fred raises an eyebrow at him. “You do what?” </p><p>“Find you attractive.” William presses his face into Fred’s shoulder, bites, just gently, at the fabric of his sleeve. “It’s very annoying, how attractive I find you, did you know that?” He mumbles that last part, feels strangely exposed as he says it. William didn’t even think he was capable of feeling exposed anymore.</p><p>“I did guess that, yes,” Fred says, deadpan. “What with all the sex we’ve been having.”</p><p>William bites him less gently this time.</p><p>“<em>Ow</em>,” Fred says, but he sounds like he’s smiling. “You as well.”</p><p>William peeks up at him, feels his stomach doing flips. “Yeah?” </p><p>“Yeah.” Fred bumps their knees together.</p><p>William decides: he didn’t get this far by not taking advantage of Opportunities.</p><p>“You should ask to stay over in my room next time we have sex,” William says. Lofty, easy breezy. Less easy breezy when he continues, after a second, “I know you didn’t want to before and I guess it’s not really your thing and it’s not like <em>I </em>care, of course, but-”</p><p>“Okay,” Fred says, and he’s easy breezy too, like always, except then – William has to do a double take – even in the dim, cloud-tinted daylight, even through the hazy fog from the rain, Fred’s cheeks are tinted a bright, embarrassed pink, and he’s fighting a smile, and William realizes, huh. Maybe he won more than he thought he did, that first day.</p><p>“Okay,” William says. He smiles too, not one of his careful ones or his pretty ones, but a real one, to match Freddie’s. And, okay. He doesn’t mind calling this one a tie.</p>
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